


Unchained

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: (Mostly rated M out of paranoia), Catholic Guilt, Corruption, Implied Sexual Content, More about the chase than the result as it were, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: It was just supposed to be a simple night out at a concert.You didn't expect a difficult, nigh-impossible test from God.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus III/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	Unchained

**Author's Note:**

> Well this got out of control fast. (I thought it was gonna be like 500 words i'm hilarious)
> 
> Anyway this was a lot of fun to write! (Thank you very much CaptainAddict and MaverickCheshire for beta-ing this for me.)  
> I've never done a character/reader fic before. I might do another one with a different Papa.
> 
> Please note I tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible, but Italian is a bastard of a language.

You knew this idea was a bad one. It wasn’t music that suited a faithful Christian, but it was just music. Right? You didn’t have to give it power. You could listen to it without believing in Satan instead of God. Anyone could enjoy a good heavy beat.  
  
Going to the concert would be fine, right? So, you did.  
  
You tried to ignore that your eyes kept lingering on Papa Emeritus III. Of course you would look at him -- he’s the singer. He’s the one that catches the crowd’s eye. He’s the one that sits down and banters with people in the audience, smiling down at the sea of sinners before him. You’re not one of them, though. You kept telling yourself that, even if the words rang slightly hollow.  
  
Then his eyes passed over you.  
  
Surely, you had just imagined it when they lingered on you for a moment. You were just imagining the sly look on his face when he caught sight of the rosary you tried to hide under your shirt. There was no way he noticed it, right? You hid it as quick as you could. It was a trick of the lights, that’s all. And seeing as how he barely even glanced your way for the rest of the concert -- you refused to call it a ‘ritual’ -- you quickly forgot about the incident and just let yourself have fun.  
  
Though you didn’t want to admit it to yourself, you were riding the high-energy atmosphere by the encore. You’re not sure if he looked at you again; you were too busy enjoying the music to care.  
  
At least, that’s what you told yourself.  
  
You hurried out with the rest of the crowd once the lights went up, ducking and weaving to try and get back to your car as humanly possible. The night was done; it was time to go home and apologize profusely to God for your indiscretions.  
  
You didn’t exactly anticipate having to go through the back entrance, where the hardcore fans were rushing towards the buses to try and see their idols. It’s just that the front entrance was too packed. Fans were buying merchandise and were crowding the halls. It just made sense to go this way.  
  
You kept your gaze away from the demons that had started talking to the fans, determinedly stared down at the concrete and trying to rush off as quick as you could. You had almost made it out, you could see the parking garage just ahead --  
  
“Ah, _cara_! And here I thought you enjoyed our show. Why so quick to leave?”  
  
Anyone would recognize the voice of Papa Emeritus III. You tried to will the ground to swallow you whole. It did you no good. This is the last person you wanted to see!  
  
“Oh, no, I just ...” You fumbled while trying to think of a good reason to leave. Early day at -- no, not church. You couldn’t tell him that. Work? Cat at home? Left the oven on?  
  
He made sure you didn’t have time to actually _pick_ an excuse. “Hm? Then you jumping with the rest of them and singing along ... I just imagined that?” Your cheeks burned brightly and you wrung your hands together.  
  
“No! I mean, of course I liked it. It’s ... good music.” You sounded pathetic, but at least he laughed. Despite everything, it put you at ease. You let your eyes meet his for just a moment before you looked back down. “I had a lot of fun.”  
  
“So why end it now?” he asked. It sounded like such an innocent question. You knew better though, even as he looked out towards the bright city lights instead of looking you up and down. “Plenty to do here, no?”  
  
“Well, yes --”  
  
“Then why not join me? The night is still young!” Even though you couldn’t look him in the eye again, even though you could only hear the smile on his face, you could absolutely see the gloved hand that had reached out towards you.  
  
You hesitated, struggling with the all-too real possibilities of it ... _escalating_. That had to be his plan, right? It _had_ to be.  
  
“You mean ... to a bar?”  
  
“If that’s what you want!”  
  
“I don’t drink,” you muttered. Please, please let that be enough. Please let him get bored and --  
  
“To a club then! Plenty of fun to be had there.” That was even worse. No, no, _no_ , this shouldn’t be happening -- you should excuse yourself. You should leave, go home, and just pretend this didn’t happen.  
  
But ...  
  
You were going to be around people. It wasn’t as if you couldn’t duck away without anyone noticing. Right? It should be all right. He would find someone better, wander off, and then you could make your escape. And the traffic would be pretty bad, so maybe sticking around ... no, you couldn’t even finish the thought. That was a flimsier excuse than anything you had thought of earlier.  
  
You took Papa’s hand after another hesitant moment. His fingers laced with yours and you swore you could see him smirk. You were too busy trying to calm your racing heart to care too much.  
  
He led you away. You simply followed, akin to a lost lamb.  
  
‘ _God, please don’t let this be a mistake._ ’  
  


* * *

  
Things hadn’t gone as you’d planned.  
  
Sure, the club had plenty of people. You didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. But Papa had never left your side. He seemed to completely ignore the other people around him - he focused on _you_. He talked to _you_. Laughed with _you_. He didn’t have eyes for anyone else. He was even courteous enough to get you a virgin drink on his dime. Clearly, he paid attention to you earlier.  
  
You hated how your heart fluttered at that realization.  
  
You _really_ hated how it was so easy to just lose yourself to the music and just enjoy the dancing, knowing he was right by you to enjoy it too.  
  
It wasn’t difficult for Papa to slide up behind you and wrap his arms around you. He pulled you close, resting his head on yours. You didn’t want him to; he felt too warm and safe for that to be ... right. You didn’t know how long you could hold out at this point, especially when he caressed your sides so tenderly.  
  
His lips brushed against your ear, making you shiver. You instinctively pressed your body back against his. The both of you moved in sync with the beat -- and it all was just so _easy_. Your hips swayed perfectly in time. His hands held you just right, kept you close to him. Your eyes shut slowly and you couldn’t help a quiet, content sigh.  
  
“I thought a child of God could resist temptation.” You’re not sure that’s what he actually said -- it was far too quiet and it had been drowned out in the noise of the club -- but either way, it made your hair stand on end. It was enough to make you pull away. The rosary shifted underneath your shirt.  
  
You were doing the right thing by stepping back. And you needed to go before it got any worse.  
  
“Papa, I think I need to leave.” Your voice shook, but you had managed to say it. He tilted his head, his left eye glinting brightly underneath the neon club lights.   
  
You expected irritation or anger. It had taken a few minutes to get in here, even with his ... status. He’d gotten you a drink. Never mind how long it took for some of the space here to clear up; you had both _just_ started dancing.  
  
“Is it too much? Do you need to find somewhere more quiet?”  
  
You hadn’t expected him to fret over you, of all things. You blinked, stammering for a moment, then nodded quickly.  
  
“Yes! Please. Yes.” He probably wanted to keep dancing. If you could just slip outside, you could probably hail a taxi, get back to the car, and everything would be fine. There’d be a way to the street at the smoker’s balcony, right? It was on ground level. It was the perfect plan.  
  
But he followed you off of the dance floor and towards the side door, immediately ruining said plan. The sensations of butterflies in your stomach and the gnawing pit of anxiety clashed violently; you could almost throw up from fear.  
  
Only one person was on the balcony and they were hardly paying attention to the both of you. That did little to make you feel better. Having Papa this close didn’t help, either. The both of you simply stood there, looking out at the busy street ahead of you. The crisp night air woke you up a bit, bringing you back to your senses.  
  
Well, until Papa spoke up.  
  
“I take it you don’t come to places like this often?” You glanced over at him, shook your head, and looked back out to the street. It was dangerous to look at him right now. It was dangerous to see the -- most likely fake -- concerned look on his face. “What a shame! You’re a wonderful dancer.”  
  
You tried to push back the memories of him pressed up against you and the way it felt when he whispered in your ear. You failed miserably. All you could do was smile shyly and ignore the fact that your cheeks were bright red.  
  
“Just not my type of crowd,” you admitted. Papa chuckled, which only made your blush darken. “I mostly dance at church ...”  
  
“Church, hm?” You didn’t like his tone. He almost sounded like an amused cat that had finally gotten the mouse in a corner. “I _thought_ I saw a rosary around your neck. Spending a night with a Satanist ... what would your God think?”  
  
Crap. You wrung your hands together. A lump in your throat prevented you from speaking right away; the guilt almost crushed you. You took a deep breath, exhaled, and moved your hand to play with the rosary’s chain.  
  
“My God is a merciful one,” you begin. “When I ask for forgiveness, it will be given to me.”  
  
“Not when,” Papa purred. “If.”  
  
It was only three words, but it was enough to shake you to your core. Your hand paused while twirling the rosary and you pulled it back from it to set it on the railing.  
  
“I think it’s absurd that you need to ask for forgiveness at all,” Papa continued casually. You clutched the rail, knuckles turning white. “You’ve hardly done anything wrong. Enjoyed yourself? Had fun? Felt good? It’s ridiculous that you feel bad about that, _cara_.”  
  
Your blood boils; you manage to open your mouth to fire a retort. But nothing comes out. It wasn’t that simple, and there were things that just shouldn’t be done. Even if he dumbed things down, it was still _wrong_. That’s what your lessons had taught you. You knew that the devil was seductive, that he lied to lure Christians away from God.  
  
So why did he make so much sense? You did only dance. You just talked. Perhaps it had gone a bit too far, but it wasn’t as if anyone was being hurt ...  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with any of this. Your God punishes you for simply being. How is that fair?” Papa’s voice almost sounded soothing. Despite knowing it was a trick, you took comfort in it. “And there’s nothing wrong with joining me for a nightcap, either, if the noise is still too much.”  
  
You knew he was wrong. God simply wanted what was best for you. But as you looked at the street that you would’ve taken home, the mere idea of being stuck in that traffic made you ill. What sounded better? A nightcap in a safe, quiet place or ... that?  
  
You forced yourself to finally take a good look at Papa. The makeup was long gone -- he probably removed it after the show. You could see all the fine details of his face. His handsome chiseled features. His slicked-back hair, black as night. The way his eyes twinkled, his left shining brighter than the other.  
  
No wonder people struggled with temptation.  
  
“Can we?” Your voice trembles when you ask; despite your brain screaming at you to leave, to tell him no, something about him made it _hard_ to say no.  
  
“We can.”  
  


* * *

  
You should’ve known it was going to be in a hotel. They had another show here tomorrow before leaving -- you knew that. Why did you think this was going to be anywhere else?  
  
You were already nervous as it was, but seeing one of those ghouls as you went through the lobby -- your hands shook just knowing you were in such close proximity with _demons_. Would they recognize you from the show? Did they know what Papa knew?  
  
Were you prey to them?  
  
Papa noticed your trembling; he turned to the demon and flicked his hand to shoo them away. They complied, but not without a hiss. He stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders protectively as he ushered you into the elevator.  
  
“Do not mind them, _tesoro_ ,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you.”  
  
‘ _Easy for you to say. They_ work _for you.’_ You bit your tongue and managed to remain quiet.  
  
You expected him to say something to break the silence -- anything at all. He tapped his foot, looked up to the ceiling, sure, but he didn’t talk. It’s almost as if he _wanted_ you to bask in the tension in the air.  
  
The worst thing was that it was _working_. All you had to focus on were your wandering thoughts and the way he played with your hair absentmindedly. You let out a shaky breath, trying to force yourself to relax. To calm down. You were squirming underneath his attentions, but you’d survive. This elevator ride wouldn’t last forever.  
  
The door opening didn’t make you feel any better though. Nothing was, at this point. You tensed when Papa patted your shoulder and kept your gaze fixated on the ground.  
  
“This way.” Papa guided you towards his room and you simply followed. It wasn’t like you had any choice at this point; why even pretend to think about running away when you wanted to be here in the first place?  
  
No. It was just a nightcap. You wouldn’t let things go too far. It was just going to be a glass of water, a quick chat, and then you’d leave, faith intact. It was going to be fine.  
  
“We’re here.” Papa flashed the hotel key with completely unnecessary flourish, and opened the door. He gestured for you to go inside. You did so, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ as you stepped in.   
  
You weren’t sure why you were expecting anything other than a suite, now that you thought about it. It was the fanciest room you had ever set foot in. Was that a jacuzzi by the bed? Wine by the television? You gaped for a moment, much to your shame. You shouldn’t be impressed by this -- but ...  
  
“W-wow. This what you’re used to?”  
  
“No shame in enjoying a life of luxury,” Papa cheerfully remarked as he shut the door behind him. You froze when you heard the lock click behind him.  
  
No getting out now.  
  
“Wine?” Papa asked. You paused initially. You said you weren’t going to drink tonight, but there was a difference between things at bars and just one glass of wine. It couldn’t hurt too bad.  
  
“Yes, please. Just one, though.”  
  
“Of course.” Papa began to hum to himself cheerfully as he uncorked the bottle and began to pour, but he paused for a moment to look up at you. You weren’t sure what you should be doing until Papa waved his hand. “You don’t need to stand and wait. Sit, please! Make yourself comfortable.”  
  
“Oh. Thanks.” You bowed your head and hurried to the sofa close to the bed, sat on one side, and waited. You couldn’t help but glance over at Papa once in a while -- but the moment your gaze started to drift down, you immediately looked away.  
  
You had to be strong.  
  
Papa sauntered over. You could see how he swayed his hips out of the corner of your eye and promptly pushed down any wandering thoughts. You took the offered wine glass, trying to ignore how his fingers brushed against yours. Even with gloves on, it made your cheeks flush. Either he didn’t notice or pretended not to - he said nothing about it.  
  
“Ah, much better.” Papa sat just a bit too close to you on the sofa, but you didn’t even bother saying anything. Heat radiated from him; it was enough to make you sink into your seat. Once again, he seemingly ignored it.  
  
He took a moment to raise his glass and you followed suit reflexively.  
  
“Cheers!”  
  
“Cheers.” You couldn’t help but smile as you clinked your glass on his. His own grin was so bright and jovial - it was beyond contagious at this point.  
  
“So, I must know ...” Papa leaned back, away from you -- much to your silent disappointment -- and swirled the wine in his glass. “Your first ritual was tonight, yes?”  
  
“First _concert_. Yeah.” Even with how far this had gotten, you still couldn’t bring yourself to call it anything except a concert. You glanced away and gripped the glass just a bit tighter. “For you, I mean. I’ve been to concerts before.”  
  
“Well, I’m happy you had fun. Most people do.” He shot you a wink. That was more than enough to fluster you, and all you could think of doing to offset the nerves was take another sip of wine. “It’s fun to let loose a little, no? Just let yourself go for a while?”  
  
“I guess,” you muttered. You didn’t want to admit how fun it was to him, even though he most likely knew it. It would be admitting defeat. “To a point.”  
  
“And what’s that point?” Papa tilted his head inquisitively. “What is your God’s line for enjoying yourself?”  
  
“I ...” You didn’t have an answer for him. You racked your brain trying to think of something -- anything -- but nothing came.  
  
“A sad way to live, no? You can hardly even enjoy the ‘wrong’ song without feeling guilt over it.” Papa sipped at his wine, then craned his neck to look out the window. You let yourself admire the man for a moment, since he couldn’t see you doing it. “I saw you singing along to _Square Hammer._ ”  
  
“I didn’t --”  
  
“But you would be punished for liking it, I’m sure,” he concluded with a shrug.  
  
“It was just a spur of the moment thing.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now. Especially not when he chuckled in such a way that made your heart flutter.  
  
“You knew all the words, _cara_.”  
  
“Just because I enjoy the music doesn’t mean I can’t be faithful,” you counter. “Just because I sing a song doesn’t mean I’m going to turn my back on God. He knows that I’ll always follow His word.”  
  
“To sing with such passion, though ...” Papa glanced back over at you, a sly smile on his face. “He sees your joy, and tells you to stop feeling it. He sees you relax, and tells you to stop doing it. Tell me, how is that fair? Your God doesn’t appreciate you for who you truly are.”  
  
You didn’t have a response for that either. You stared at him dumbly, wide-eyed.  
  
“I see so much in you,” Papa continued. His speech should have set off warning bells, but you found yourself hanging on every word. “How much of yourself have you hidden away?”  
  
Your voice cracked when you answered. “I don’t know.”  
  
You’re not sure when he took your half-empty wine glass away, nor did you know when he got so close to you. Your mind raced, questioning everything that you thought you knew. God was your life. He’s the one that lifted you up.  
  
So ... why did all of this make sense? Why did your heart ache so badly? It couldn’t be true. God loved you for who you were, right?  
  
“So wound up, like a coiled spring.” Papa gently stroked your cheek; you’re ashamed to admit that you leaned into the gesture. He wasn’t wrong, as much as you didn't want to admit it. This whole evening had left you frazzled. It was okay to take a little comfort where you could get it, right?  
  
“I can fix that for you,” he purred.  
  
His touch was so deceptively gentle - the way he slid his hand across your shoulders sent a shiver down your spine. But you were strong. You’d be able to prove your devotion and prove Papa wrong -- about everything. This was a test of God’s and you would not let Him down. He always presented His most faithful with temptations -- ones intended to lure them away from the righteous path.  
  
You would not be swayed.  
  
You wouldn’t let Him down.  
  
You wouldn’t fail, even when he trailed that same hand down your spine.  
  
You wouldn’t succumb, even when he wrapped that arm around you to pull you up against him again. You didn’t have the blessing of any distractions this time. All you could focus on was how warm he felt, especially when he was this close to you. You don’t know when you eased into it, relaxing against him -- but he noticed. You could tell by the way he held just a bit tighter, and how he smiled against you.  
  
It should’ve made you nervous.  
  
“Much better, no?” Papa whispered. His soft, melodic voice made you melt. “I thought so.” You didn’t resist when he guided you towards the bed, nor did you try to stop him when he pulled you onto his lap. That in of itself wasn’t a failure. You hadn’t let anything happen yet. This was fine. Everything was fine.  
  
“Relax, _tesoro_.” You did. You just let yourself enjoy the feeling of his hands on you, softly stroking your sides, petting your hair ...  
  
You felt a hand slip under your shirt. You knew you should have panicked, but his warmth against you was all you wanted right now. How was it like this even with the gloves on? Just the idea of his bare skin on yours made you whimper in need.  
  
It’s when he started to slowly pull the shirt up that you startled.  
  
“I -- wait --” Papa’s hand immediately froze. He looked you over; you could feel his gaze linger on ... certain parts of your body, and that just made your breath catch. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”  
  
“But do you _want_ to?” he asked simply. He resumed stroking your hair, brushing his fingers down against your cheek, towards your neck. Why was it the simple touches that made you shiver? “This is not about someone else. This is about you. Be honest with yourself, _cara_.”  
  
His hushed whispers so close to your ear, his hot breath on your skin -- it was enough to stroke a fire deep within you, one you hadn’t ever felt before in your entire life.  
  
You did want to. God, more than anything. It was too much to ignore now.  
  
“Yes,” you breathed out. Papa didn’t waste another second - he gripped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up part-way, exposing some of your skin. The way he gently stroked your back, the way he teased the hem of your jeans with his fingertips --  
  
You swore you felt a hand on your chest before it recoiled, but you didn’t pay it any mind. There were too many other things to focus on. Namely, his soft snarl and something hard pressing up against your thigh.  
  
You felt a gloved hand grip your chin, tilting it up to force you to look into his eyes. You stared at him, still entranced -- and then felt your heart seize when he gripped your rosary and pulled it out from underneath your hiked-up shirt. The cold reality of the situation snapped you out of your haze, and clarity struck like lightning.  
  
This had gone too far.  
  
“Let it go,” you shakily protested.  
  
“Why?” His smile, while charming as ever, almost seemed cold. You swore you could see him grimace while holding the rosary. You hoped that would be enough to let go, but he barely seemed fazed by it. In fact, he only gripped it tighter. “You no longer need this, _cara mia_.”  
  
You opened your mouth to protest, but you forgot your anger when he pressed his hand up between your legs. It left you whimpering all over again, your anger forgotten in your burning lust. The shame couldn’t be fully washed away; it burned just as bright. You shouldn’t have let yourself get into this situation in the first place. You shouldn’t have given in.  
  
You shouldn’t be feeling as _good_ as you are. Papa’s touches were like a sweet fire, and you still hated how much you loved it. You still resented every second you clung to him, every moment you desperately rubbed up against him, and every little whimper you made.  
  
“Beg for your Papa. Show me that you truly want this,” he commanded. There was a bite to his voice, something you hadn’t heard before -- and it drove you wild. You couldn’t help but grind down on his hand now, panting heavily. That burning heat threatened to swallow you whole.  
  
You couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
“Please, please, don’t stop, please --”  
  
“You belong to _me_. Not anyone else -- not anymore.” The growl in your ear nearly sent you over the edge. You clutched at him tightly, whining pathetically. He nipped at your ear, slowly trailing down to your jaw. To your neck. Each and every little kiss and bite felt like lightning.  
  
“God, yes! _Fuck_ \--”  
  
You didn’t even hear the chain snap from Papa pulling it. It simply just slipped away from you, still held tightly in Papa’s free hand. He gently squeezed your chin, forcing you to open your eyes -- you didn’t even realize they were closed -- while he dangled the now-ruined rosary in front of you.  
  
Your heart sank as he carelessly tossed it away. Not because he threw it so haphazardly, no. That would be much easier to deal with.  
  
It was that you didn’t care that it was gone. Your neck felt strangely bare, but that was because Papa had pulled his lips away from it a few seconds ago. Your chest felt similarly; all you needed was for Papa to just touch you there again.  
  
You had failed, but you didn’t even mind anymore. All you wanted was Papa. The crushing guilt would set in later, but for right now, things were so beautifully simple. All you had to do was let go as he had his way with you. You just had to whimper and plead, begging for your Papa as he stripped you bare and teased you relentlessly, whispering sweet promises and temptations to you as you came undone beneath his fingertips.  
  
So, you did.  
  
And you loved every minute of it.


End file.
